


Hung Over

by afteriwake



Series: On My Way To Satisfaction [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock doesn't exactly have the smoothest reunion with John so he decides to get very drunk. When he wakes up the next morning at Molly's place he has the hangover from hell and she very patiently tries to set him to rights. When she informs him he kissed her the night before he regrets that it happened that way, but she surprises him when she decides to take a chance on him anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hung Over

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. Apparently this is my OTP. I'm not even going to try and deny it anymore. Keep in mind I still haven't seen season 3 yet, so until I get a hold of it most of the Sherlock/Molly stuff I write is _so_ not going to be canon compliant (and even after I watch it, I _still_ might write how I think it should have gone). Anyway, this is inspired by another **imagineyourotp** prompt ("Imagine person B of your OTP waking up on the couch from a hangover. As they wake up, they see person A in the kitchen making them a cup of coffee (or anything that might help with treating their pain). Person B feels guilty about having person A worry about them after leaving last night and therefore apologizes. Person A immediately accepts their apology, and they embrace each other before spending the rest of the day together").

Sherlock didn't know what on earth had possessed him to drink so much. No, he _did_ know, but he didn't want to think about it. He had finally arrived home after two years spent away and he'd gotten punched in the face by his best friend. _That_ was why he'd decided to go out and get pissed. As he woke up with a pounding headache and one swollen eye, among other things, he looked around. Where the bloody hell was he right now? It wasn't home, not 221B Baker Street. It wasn't a dingy motel room. He couldn't figure out where he was, even if it looked vaguely familiar.

“So. You're awake,” he heard Molly say from the side. Of course. Somehow he'd made it to Molly's home. He'd been there briefly the afternoon before, after he arrived back in London but before he went to see John, and that was why everything seemed familiar. He turned and then squinted almost immediately. There was a window in her kitchen that was getting the full glint from the sun coming through and it was ungodly bright. He could also smell something. Not food, he realized after a moment. Coffee. She had made coffee. “I really had no clue if you were actually going to wake up or not.”

“I must have had more to drink than I thought,” he said as he shut his eye again, and his throat felt as though it was stuffed with cotton. It was the worst case of dry mouth he had ever had. “How much did I drink?”

“I have no clue how much you had to drink before you got here. But you had two-thirds of a bottle of whiskey with you when you arrived and it's empty now. I'm honestly surprised you don't have alcohol poisoning.”

“It was a small bottle,” he said in his defense.

The smell of the coffee got stronger, and he risked opening up his eye that wasn't swollen again to see she was standing in front of him, two mugs of coffee in her hand. “I'm fairly sure you want it black right now, right?” she asked. He nodded and dear God, that hurt his head. “Drink this and then I'll get you some water and aspirin for the hangover I'm fairly sure you have.” She had an amused grin on her face and if he didn't hurt so much he might have glared with his good eye.

“Thank you,” he murmured, sitting up more. He took the mug of coffee and then set it back down as he got hit with a wave of nausea. “Maybe later.”

“If you're going to vomit the washroom is down the hall, first door on the right. Don't you dare do that on my sofa.” She moved back to the kitchen. “I'm going to be nice and not make anything to eat. But if you think you can stomach it, I have an old hangover cure I used to use when I was in university. It means more alcohol, but it will probably work.”

“Anything,” he said, lying back down.

She chuckled slightly. “Do you remember anything from last night?” she asked.

“Other than John punching me in the face, not really,” he said. “I don't even remember how I got here.”

“You called and I picked you up,” she said. “You were really quite affectionate last night, when you weren't ranting and raving.”

He stilled. He was affectionate? What did she mean by that? “Did I do something stupid?” he asked quietly.

“No, not really,” she said. “I mean, other than kiss me.”

He snapped his eye open and sat bolt upright, something he regretted a moment later. Another wave of nausea hit him and the headache came back with a force, but that was inconsequential for the moment. He had kissed her? He'd thought about doing that while he was gone, yes, but she had seemed to have moved on from him while he was gone. He was respecting that. He was respecting _her_ , as he should have done long before he had to fake his death. “I am so sorry,” he said, turning to face her.

“It's all right. It actually wasn't all that bad of a kiss,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He just realized her hair was down. He'd only seen her with her hair down once, at the Christmas party. It suited her, he realized. “But, I mean, you were pissed so I'm letting it slide.”

“That wasn't the way I wanted it to happen,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. He'd thought about it from time to time, wondering what it might be like to pursue a relationship with her. They had become friends during his time away, because he had needed to talk to someone and it was either her or his brother since they were the only two who knew the truth. She had been the better choice from the outset and the more he talked to her the more he learned about her, and the more he learned the more he liked her. He wasn't sure when his feelings had started to change, but they had. However, as they had talked he had found her crush on him had waned considerably, and so he just assumed he had missed his chance and he had tried to let it go. Apparently he hadn't tried hard enough. 

“Let me go get you the aspirin,” she said, coming back over to him with a glass of water. “Don't drink all of this, but sip it so your throat is less dry.” He took the water and began to sip it as he watched her leave the room. The water helped considerably, he realized, and when she came back later with a small bottle he found that he had drank half the glass already. He held out his hand and she tapped out two pills. He popped them into his mouth and then swallowed them with some more of the water. “That should help a lot.”

“Thank you,” he said gratefully. He finished the glass of water as she went back to her kitchen, rummaging through cabinets. He had no clue what her hangover cure would entail, but he would swallow _anything_ to make the whole experience simply go away. “I am sorry if I worried you,” he said after a moment.

“Well, it was bound to happen. Not everyone was going to take you back easily. You knew that before you came home.” She paused, then went to her refrigerator for a moment, opening one door and then the other. She did something, and then a few minutes later she came over to him with a small plastic bag wrapped in a small washcloth. “Ice, for the black eye John gave you,” she said as she handed it to him.

He gingerly reached up and touched under his swollen eye. It hurt like hell, he realized. He didn't want to look into a mirror any time soon. He shut his other eye and then put the ice to the swollen one before lying back down. “I had the feeling he would not take it well, but I didn't expect to be punched,” he said quietly.

“Well, he's not happy with me, either. Before you called I got yelled at by him for lying to him the last two years,” she said with a sigh as she went back to going through her cabinets. “If he talks to either of us any time soon I'd be surprised.”

“I can't apologize enough for putting you in that position,” he said.

“It was either I keep your secret or I let you die on that roof. I'd much rather have you alive than dead. I mean, if you had died I wouldn't have gotten to be one of your friends, and I quite like our friendship.” She stopped rummaging and started to move about in her kitchen. “I do have a question, though.”

“All right,” he said. “What is your question?”

“When did you start to fancy me?” she asked.

This time he did not react to his shock by sitting bolt upright. He doubted his stomach could stand a sudden movement like that again. If he didn't want to retch all over her carpet he should remain lying down, or at least sit up much more slowly next time. “I'm not sure. Perhaps nine months after I left.”

“Why didn't you tell me before last night?”

“You seemed to have moved on,” he said with a slight shrug. “I thought my chance had passed. Besides, aren't you in a relationship right now?”

“You haven't talked to me in three weeks, except very briefly before you went to see John,” she said. “He dumped me the day after I talked to you on the phone the last time. Thought I was cheating on him.”

“You would never do that,” he said adamantly.

“I know. But he didn't believe me.” She was quiet for a moment. “I'd moved on from you mostly, I guess. But part of me still had hope. I mean, I knew you were alive. But I had no clue how long you'd be gone. For all I knew it would take many more years than it actually did.” He sat up slowly and opened his other eye to look at her. “So when you told me you'd be coming home soon I got excited. And apparently I never acted like that with my boyfriend, because when I told him I was happy a friend was finally coming home he asked if it was the person who called me at odd hours. I said it was and he asked if you were male. I said you were, and then he accused me of having an affair with you.”

“Unbelievable,” he murmured.

“Oh, he's not the first guy I've dated to assume they're being cheated on,” she said, waving her hand slightly. She went back to opening bottles and pouring things in a glass. “Trust me, this accusation got lobbed at me fairly often while you were gone.”

“How many men accused you of cheating on them with me?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

“Five. No, six. Six men. Most of the rest didn't actually make it to boyfriend status.” She shrugged slightly. “I don't know why I bothered after the first two, to be honest. It really wasn't worth it.”

“I've made more of a mess of your life than I realized,” he said quietly.

“Well, you're back now and everyone's safe. That's the important part.” She finished what she was doing in the kitchen and brought out a glass of red liquid with a celery stalk in it. “I usually don't have all the ingredients for a Bloody Mary on hand but considering you are not the first person who's been here with a hangover in the last week I figured I would keep it on hand.”

“Who else has?” he said, setting down the bag of ice and taking the drink.

“Sally,” she said with a grim smile. “She probably out drank you, too.”

“Why would she need to get pissed?” he asked, curious.

“I'm assuming you know about her and Phillip?” He gave her a confused look. “Anderson. The one man in all of Scotland Yard you hated with an unholy passion.”

“I do not hate him _that_ much,” he murmured, taking a sip of the drink. He was pleased that it mostly tasted like tomato juice. “But yes, I knew. They were painfully obvious.”

“He died,” she said. Sherlock looked at her sharply. “He'd left his wife a year ago and the two of them were making a go of things. They got engaged a month ago. He got killed in a car crash last week and Sally didn't take it well at all. She came over and drank a large bottle of tequila. I was almost afraid she'd gotten alcohol poisoning too. But she had an awful hangover the next day and I tried to help as best I could.”

“I didn't know,” he said quietly. He may not have liked Anderson but he wouldn't have wished that fate on anyone, even him.

“The funeral was five days ago,” she said as she sat next to him. “Sally attended, and then she left. I have no clue when she's going to come back.” She paused. “If she ever does. She was really torn up over it.” She looked at him, then nudged him slightly. “Keep drinking. It doesn't do any good if it's not in your stomach.”

He nodded and began drinking again. “Even in three weeks things have changed drastically, it seems,” he said slowly.

“That's the way life is,” she said, giving him a slight smile. “It's always changing. You can't expect anything to stay the same from day to day.”

“I suppose not.” He stayed quiet until he had finished the drink, then he set the glass down and took the celery stalk out, beginning to eat it. He probably needed at least a little food in his stomach. “I'm sorry,” he said when he was done. “About your boyfriends, about the kiss, about not telling you...about all of it.”

“It's all right, Sherlock,” she said, reaching over and hugging him. The only person who had hugged him in the last two years was Mrs. Hudson, who had given him a warm hug when she'd finally gotten over the shock of his return. He found he had quite liked it, more than he had thought he would. And being hugged by Molly was no different. He hugged her back after a moment, and he found he didn't want to let go. Apparently, neither did she, as they stayed that way for far longer than he had supposed they might. When she finally pulled away she looked at him with a smile on her face. “Do you have plans today?”

He shook his head. “Not until I get rid of this hangover, and even then I might shelve them for the day. Why?”

“I was thinking it might be nice to spend the day with you, that's all,” she said. 

He nodded for a moment, then reached over and hesitantly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked at him with a surprised look on her face. “I doubt it would be a good idea to go out in public right now,” he said. “But I wouldn't mind staying here.”

“We can stay here,” she said quietly. His hand lingered slightly, his fingertips brushing her cheek as he lowered his hand. She was quiet for a moment. “Sherlock?”

“Yes?” he asked.

“I _really_ want to kiss you right now.”

“I wouldn't say no to that,” he said, a smile etching itself on his face. He leaned in at the same time she did and she pressed her lips to his. It was a tentative kiss, more feeling things out than anything else, but soon she got bolder and deepened it. He reached over and pulled her closer to him after a moment, then began to lie back down with her on top of him. She pulled away when she needed to breathe, looking down at him with a wide grin on her face. “Was that better than last night?” he murmured, reaching up to touch her face gently.

“Much,” she said with a nod. “I think I might just consider that kiss our first kiss.” She shifted slightly. “So. I take it that means you still fancy me.”

“I do,” he said with a slight nod.

“Good thing I'm single now.”

“That is a very good thing.”

She laughed slightly, and he found himself grinning at her. “I'm glad you're back, Sherlock.”

“I'm glad to be back too,” he replied, moving his hand up to cup the back of her head and pull her in for another kiss. Hangover be damned, this was the best thing to happen to him since he got home the day before. If it hadn't been for getting completely pissed the night before he might not have this now, and he, for one, was glad events had gone the way they had, and he was fairly sure she felt the same way as she kissed him back. So really, while aspects of his life were not pleasant at the moment, at least in this area things were beyond pleasant. He was very very glad for that.


End file.
